


The Curse Of Gold

by DeanOh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Community: deancastiel, DCRB, DCRB 2019, Destiel - Freeform, Easy Read, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, alternative universe, dean cas reverse bang, deancasreversebang, no worldbuilding whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanOh/pseuds/DeanOh
Summary: After months of having the same nightmare, Dean Winchester decides to see a Dream Weaver - a highly illegal gifted person with the ability to heal dreams from within. Dean doesn't expect anything to happen when he meets Castiel Novak, until he's sitting in his living room, staring into those blue eyes and Castiel finds out more about Dean than anyone ever has.DeanCas Reverse Bang 2019!





	The Curse Of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> It took a while, but now we're here and I'm finally posting! Wrote this piece in accordance to Whichstiel's incredible artwork (you'll be able to find it in the middle of the fic where it fits best, and on Whichstiel's tumblr. And the masterpost!). Thank you so much Whichstiel for your kindness and patience, thank you for bearing with me and my whirlwind life, I really liked working with you! Thank you to the mods of DCRB as well, for being really understanding when real life hit. Thankfully, I made it, and here's the finished piece!  
> Enjoy. 
> 
> (Please visit Whichstiel on tumblr, by the same name xx)

Dean’s hands clutch the sides of the comfortable recliner, his eyes are closed, eyebrows scrunched up as if he’s in deep thought. To an onlooker, Dean looks almost dreadful, there’s a new tension in his shoulders that’s never been there before, something of a burden in the shape of white knuckles and sweat on his forehead.

Sam, who sits on the sofa, lowers the volume of the TV and stares at him. The silence that falls is almost deafening. Dean lets out a shaky breath, opens his eyes to see Sam openly worry about him.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, carefully.

“Yup,” Dean answers.

“You’re thinking about your going to a Dream Weaver again, aren’t you,” Sam continues, sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped in front of him.

“No,” Dean lies, lets his fingers unclasp, then rubs his hands in between his thighs. “I’m thinking about dinner, man.”

Sam lets out a huff of disbelief, but lets it go. They’ve been through this a lot lately, Sam interrogating Dean, Dean changing the subject, and then Dean waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare that seems too real. Today, Dean’s fingers shake from the pain, even if it’s a phantom one. The weight feels crushing.

“I’m making pizza tonight,” Dean says, and stands up. He’s gotta get out of this space, away from his brother’s worry, somewhere where he can be alone with his constant jumbled thoughts. Away from his damned laptop with a dozen tabs open, with the name Castiel Novak being at the back of his mind whenever he opens it up. And again, Dean wants to grab it, browse, wants to understand the dreams he’s been having for the past couple of months. Dean wakes up drenched in sweat most days now, his laundry basket is filled to the brim with shirts he keeps taking out of the closet so he can go back to a fitful sleep without the shirt clinging to his skin.

Cooking takes him into a different place all together. Kneading the dough keeps the strength in his hands, the flour flies from his fingers all over the kitchen counter, which Sam bitches about when he waddles into the kitchen with a small smile on his face. Dean’s own little world closes in on him as he chops the vegetables, prepares slices of mozzarella, alleviates some of the weight on his chest. He sits down on the kitchen floor to watch the magic happen in the oven, the cheese happily bubbling away inside. Sam joins him, as if they’re children again, loitering until Mom’s pie turned out to be ready.

“I wouldn’t judge you if you decided to go,” Sam says, bumping his shoulder to Dean’s. “I know a guy from class who has been to see one. Didn’t look like it changed anything about him, he just seemed more reserved.”

Castiel Novak. Castiel  _ Novak _ . That’s the name Dean’s seen on various hidden forums, bashed into the ground for showing people the truth behind their darkest fears. Isn’t Dean crazy for even thinking about the mere  _ idea _ ? Dream Weavers have been banned across the country. Dean’s seen the youtube videos of people ending up in a hospital, people verging on the edge of absolute vegetation, eyes blank when they were being spoken to. Specialists telling cautionary tales about what it does to your head, and isn’t it wild how Dean can barely live with his own thoughts anyway?

Dean throws a glance at Sam, then continues to stare at the pizza. “I shouldn’t go. I’m working on a huge project anyway, and if I come back staring at you point blank, who’s gonna pay for your fancy ass salads?”

Sam rolls his eyes. He feels warm next to Dean, familiar. “Whatever you’ve seen online is just shit the media makes up to stop people from getting all of these different insights about the world. Have you ever heard of the people who came back with powers?”

Dean snorts, gives Sam the most sarcastic eyebrow tilt ever. “Yeah, like that guy who could shoot lasers out of his eyes.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam defends himself, slightly punching Dean’s side. “Look, if you turn up without half your mind, I’ll just work instead of you. How hard is it to fix a car up?”

“You wouldn’t last a  _ day _ with Bobby,” Dean says, chuckling to himself, with the name Castiel Novak wrapping itself around him. “Get me a beer, would you? This is gonna take a while.”

“What, the pizza? Or the time it’s going to take you to see a Dream Weaver.”

“Fuck you.”

“At least tell me when you’re going,” Sam says, gets up to open the fridge. “I’d like to get prepared.”

“Sure.”

***

Dean’s holding the steering wheel of Sam’s Toyota Prius tightly, staring ahead at the very cosy, very small cottage in the middle of the woods. He wishes he’d said anything to Sam. Finding it took an hour of a very soothing voice on the phone guiding him through the overgrown roads. Dean’s 100% sure he’s going to have to clean up the Toyota when he gets back, if he even remembers how to drive after. Castiel Novak gave his number out on his personal website, too easy it seems; from all the comments Dean’s read he looks like the real deal, but the police deem him a fraud anyway. Maybe he is, since he’s never been in jail for entering people’s dreams. If he even does enter  _ anyone’s  _ dreams. Dean lets out a shaky breath, checks his phone for messages from Sam, then closes his eyes for a second, gathers all his feelings into a small ball and hides it behind his heart for later use. When he looks up, he finds Castiel Novak himself standing on his porch, a cigarette in between his lips, lit and burning. He looks like a regular guy, wears an old beige trench coat and fluffy socks. There’s a sort of beard going on, but Dean finds he actually kinda likes it, along with those fucking socks.

Dean gets out of the car, looks over it that doesn’t look as worn out as Dean thought. Then he approaches Castiel. Castiel watches him with an interest, observes him with a keen eye. There’s this surreal aura surrounding him, or maybe it’s just the woods and the clean, fresh air Dean really appreciates. The twigs and moss crunch underneath Dean’s heavy-set boots, and it almost feels like he’s stepping on blessed ground.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, with a light twinkle in his eyes.

Dean’s suddenly very calm. The same voice is as soothing out here as it is on the phone, makes Dean completely pliant. So he gives in, and says a quiet ‘hello’ back.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?” Castiel says and puts his finished cigarette in the ashtray on his porch. “I presume you’re enjoying your final moments of complete and utter ignorance to the world.”

Dean lifts one eyebrow. “Nah, I actually felt a little bit better about my decision to come. You don’t look like someone who’d fry someone’s brain out.”

“You’d be surprised,” Castiel says, opens the door to his cottage and invites Dean in. “Some who come in have very fickle brains, so whatever I weave out of them makes them face the consequences of hiding their own thoughts. To some, it’s a heartbreaking ordeal. It takes a lot of courage to face whatever is in there.” He points to Dean’s head.

“I’ve faced enough demons already,” Dean says, looking around the cottage. “I think I’ll be alright with what’s behind the scenes.”

The inside of the cottage is simple. A couple of bookshelves line the sides, the main living room has a recliner, a sofa and a TV, some plant pots. There’s sunlight coming out through the wide window, it breaks apart into pieces all over the living room floor, paints the most comfortable picture in the world. Dean loves every inch of it, and Castiel seems to fit into the space, just as relaxing as the small dust particles dancing in the sunlight. Dean looks over to see the kitchen too, in an adjacent room. Shaking himself out of his safe space, he looks back at Castiel.

“Your place is neat,” he says.

Castiel looks surprised. “I wouldn’t take you for a man who likes minimalistic cottages.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Dean retorts. “I used to dream about living in a cottage just like this. My parents had a huge house, but I always felt like it was too big for me.”

“Well,” Castiel says, walking around the recliner, patting it and asking Dean to sit. “Make yourself at home. I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things before we start. If you’ve got any questions, it’s best to ask them now, I’m afraid we won’t have time for them later.”

Fitting himself in the recliner, Dean immediately knows he’s safe. It’s the feeling of Castiel and his eternally relaxed stance that’s making Dean trust him. All the comments about Dream Weavers on the internet fade away with Castiel sitting down on the sofa, his hands in between his thighs.

“So,” Dean starts. “I’ve read all about you guys, but I’m not even sure where to start. Does it hurt?”

“Me entering your dreams?” Castiel says. “It might, but not in the way you expect. It’s more like an invasion of privacy, it feels uncomfortable.”

“Do you see what I see?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I make a point to never discuss what I’ve seen with anyone else but the client. I’m like a doctor, in a way, just not as legally binding.”

“But there’s no, like, written contract. What if I’m not sure I can trust you?” Dean says.

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I’m just asking. Just - I’m just curious. What you’re doing is highly illegal, so like there’s no way I’d be able to fully trust you with the information I’ve got about myself. If I don’t know what’s going on there, it’s a little bit of a leap of faith to think you’re never going to talk about this with your other friends.”

Castiel nods. “Fair point. I assure you I am a social recluse, and all my friends live scattered around the world. I’ve got better things to talk about with them when I meet them.”

“That makes me feel better,” Dean says. “You’re a traveller, then?”

“I travel, but not in the way you would.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, my friends are all Weavers too. Weaving is a very tiring thing, especially between us. We keep our energy for special occasions only. There was a wedding last month, truly beautiful. You’re my first client I could afford to take in after.”

“Wow. Thank you.”

Castiel smiles so kindly that Dean looks away for a split second, afraid of him entering his thoughts  _ right  _ this second, and finding out Dean thinks he’s quite attractive. For an illegal Weaver.

“Anyway,” Dean says again after them looking at each other for way too long. “How does it work then? Do I fall asleep on my own, or do you just mumbo jumbo into my mind like this?”

Castiel chuckles. “No. You’re going to lie down, and I’ll induce a sleep like state in you. You’ll be able to understand everything that’s going on, and you’ll be completely lucid the entire time. If you feel a harsh reaction to whatever is happening in your head, you must grab my hand and squeeze it, as you won’t be able to speak. I’ll be right here with you, guiding you through your dream.”

“Has anyone ever been stuck in their dream?” Dean asks cautiously after a pause.

“No, not that I’ve known of,” Castiel says. He clearly feels something is off about Dean but doesn’t press. Dean appreciates the hell out of it.

“Two last questions.”

“Ask away.”

Dean leans into the recliner, hands sweaty and mind almost blank. His stomach is churning, his chest tightens. “Can you cure a nightmare?”

Castiel stays silent, then says. “Up to a point.”

“Okay. Okay. What about the price?”

With this, Castiel pushes the recliner down, so it becomes a sort of bed. Very comfortable, very scary. “The cost I will determine later. Don’t worry, it’s not monetary anyway.”

“What do you mean not monetary – “

Castiel stands up abruptly, cuts Dean off by widening his stance, rolling his shoulders back and putting his hands up, as if he’s doing an elaborate dance. That shuts Dean right up, makes him stare speechlessly at how Castiel’s body works with zero to no effort, how he moves his hands so delicately that Dean is mesmerized within seconds. Dean feels his body gradually shut down, the heaviness of sleep pulls him away from the reality of Castiel pulling at the strings of his soul, makes Dean dizzy and disoriented – then, Dean feels like he’s floating mid-air, able to move all of his limbs at once, but instantly decides not to.

It comes rapidly. The comfort disappears just as easy as it came, makes Dean’s heart beat faster, palms sweatier, his fingers shake uncontrollably. Something enters his mind, reaches through the folds and walls. Dean tries to swat it away but finds it hard to lift a finger against the force. Through the haze of his jumbled thoughts, the force reaches behind every memory Dean has ever had in his life, ignores all the good and bad, then slithers towards something that Dean tries to keep hidden, makes it resurface, shocking Dean to the edge of the universe. He struggles to keep on, tries to move his legs so he can run away from the nightmare that’s been following him for so long, but it creeps over him like an eclipse, overshadows every little thought, overcomes and consumes. Dean has nothing left and lets it wash over him, because there’s never been a way back out of this.

He wakes up in the dream again.

The giant oak tree stands in the middle of the field, illuminated by a light Dean can’t pinpoint. He stands beneath it, watching the hole in the tree, waiting for the little squirrel to come back to get the treats he’s left for it. A feeling of serenity swallows Dean whole, makes his heart jump with happiness, and he’d really, really like to make a swing on one of the branches, to feel as carefree as a child, as he once was.

The loneliness crushes him when he turns around. There’s no one there to share his happiness, no one else who wants a swing. He thinks – where can I get someone I could enjoy this moment with?

The sky above the tree grows darker by the minute, the air has a slight smell of the oncoming rain – thick, almost like it’s about to turn into mist. It fills Dean’s lungs with anticipation, makes him reach out and touch the grass beneath his bare feet. Damp, yet promising. He knows someone is behind him now, standing right next to him and reaching out, whispering they’d never leave him alone underneath the oak tree. As Dean waits for the moment of truth, it never comes.

What comes next is why Dean wakes up every night, and he dreads it, knowing it’s coming.

The ground opens beneath his feet, revealing the tall golden spikes, glittering underneath the dark clouds, rain trickles on top of Dean’s exposed skin. It burns on his fingertips as he brushes the raindrops away, his feet slip on the grass now, no more sign of peace in his mind. Hearing whispers from deep within the hole, Dean craves to jump on the spikes, thinks about his body succumbing to the darkness, to the monster that lurks underneath, waiting to taste flesh and blood. Dean sobs out loud, his face in his hands, and yet, he can’t look away. He can’t take away the fear, the numbness of his feet, he can’t stop thinking about his own death on the spikes, how painful and horrid it would feel, but he must do it. He must step down, he must face the monsters, he must feed them, forget about the tree and a lifetime of hope and love. Whatever is waiting for him down there is inevitable. Dean’s ashamed he’s not acting quicker – he doesn’t have the guts to turn back to the oak tree and apologize.

Stepping over, he feels one of the spikes on the sole of his foot, the stabbing, undeniable pain. The bad memories resurface instantly – Dean shouts at his father the day before his father dies in a car crash. He fails to save his mother from the fire that burns in their big, big house. He tells Lisa he doesn’t love her anymore and leaves her with her son. He turns away from Sam when Sam’s girlfriend dies, leaves Sam alone in his grief. Sleeps with everyone and anyone for  _ years _ , drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks –

The pull is so strong, Dean struggles to find the strength to breathe. The good memories resurface slowly, yet they feel so heartbreaking Dean heaves, lets the spike run through his foot like butter. It hurts, and the only thing that keeps him from going further is the memory of Sam laughing when Dean threw an entire pie on the ground after it was too hot.

Dean’s mom smiling at him after he came back from school with an A+.

Dad showing him how to fix the Impala, so patiently it hurts to watch.

Dean loving and caring, his cooking, his projects, his little wins – all of them overpower his deepest regrets, the push and pull of good and bad settles Dean’s mind with a snap. He withdraws his foot, leaves a trail of blood on the spike. Wraps himself up in all these warm memories and turns to share them with the person he wants to be underneath the oak tree with.

When he turns, he sees an ocean of blue, feels rough hands on his skin, and smells the woods, the moss, and the rain. It feels so perfectly good that Dean embraces the grief and the loss, welcomes the wins and the giddy happiness back again. Doesn’t let any of them overshadow the other, just focuses on the blue blue blue. Dean extends his hand and his entire being to the blue, invades the thoughts and feelings. Gets a glimpse of a memory, a second of happiness and sorrow from the other person, but then he’s quickly pushed back.

He jumps up from the recliner, drenched in sweat as always, his heart hammers so loud that he grips the front of his shirt thinking it’ll slow it down to a small drum. Dean barely notices Castiel next to him, humming a soothing song to calm Dean’s heart. Now Dean understands why people feel reserved after a Dream Weaver enters their mind. Dean feels like he’s been invaded, like all his secrets have left him vulnerable and defeated, but somehow, he feels free. A wild, unnerving thought, but that’s exactly how he feels. He finds himself staring straight into Castiel’s blue eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dean starts crying. Quietly, but it happens. He hasn’t cried in years.

“You know me better than my brother does,” Dean says in between tears, wiping them away with the back of his hand.

Castiel lowers his eyes, deep in thought. Even he looks reserved, less carefree than when Dean met him. He sits closer to Dean now, almost on the edge of the recliner, his delicate hands back to their soft place in between his thighs. “It’s a side effect of my gift,” he says reluctantly. “I bond with everyone I help, and it makes it hard to let you all go ahead with your lives now that I know everything. So here we are, Dean Winchester. I feel like I’ve known you for years, and you’re the first person to ever reach back and touch my own memories and dreams. It’s slightly unnerving, because I’m not sure if I’ve helped or damaged.”

Dean thinks about the happiness he accidentally touched within Castiel. It starts out slow but fills him with a kind of determination. Something intangible and incredibly warm. “I’ve only ever seen the bad memories during the nightmare. Sometimes I end up on the spikes already, they dig into my back and skin and the monsters come up to have their feast. This is the first time in months since I haven’t woken up with the same memories haunting me even when I’m not sleeping.”

Castiel takes Dean’s hands into his, breathes out slowly. “I do not require any payment of you.”

“What?” Dean’s breath catches in his lungs.

Castiel gives him one of his secret, quiet smiles. “The only one who can touch a Dream Weaver is one of our own. I think I know exactly how to help you.”

Dean meets Castiel’s hopeful look with his own worried one.

Castiel continues, “If you’re willing, I can train your mind and soul to tap into dreams and never have any bad memories again. I can help you, if you can help me.”

“Help you how?”

Castiel grips Dean’s fingers. “The future is very bright for us both, it seems. I think you’re helping me now, even if you don’t know it yet.”

***

Dean sits, his hands wrapped around the lukewarm bottle of beer, staring into space.

“He didn’t even make you pay him? Sounds like a scam,” Sam says, shaking his head and taking a swig of the beer.

They’re sitting in the kitchen, with chilli bubbling in the pot, the sweet tomato-y smell filling up the space and making Dean’s stomach growl. Dean finally takes a sip, and shrugs. “He also said being a Dream Weaver isn’t just about being a hick on the road selling some good memories from the bottom of your brain. I can use it for whatever I’d like. I’ve got a good life going on for me, Sam, I’m not about to run away with some cottage guy just so I can enter dreams and see what people are up to.”

“I’m just saying it sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

“It’s not. I’ve only had the dream  _ once _ since I met him. Fuck, I’ve been sleeping like a baby for the past week,” Dean says, quick to defend Castiel.

Truth be told, Dean’s nightmares haven’t ended at all. It’s just  _ easier _ to deal with them, easier to call those good memories back when he needs them the most. He does sleep better, because of him. Castiel always seems to be close by when that happens, but Dean’s not sure if Castiel’s invading his dreams every night, or if it’s just an echo of his touch. He’d like it to be a regular thing, though - Castiel’s hands are rough, but Dean welcomes them. Without telling Sam most of the details, Dean avoided the conversation about him being bonded to a Dream Weaver by complete accident. Once Dean caught a glimpse of Castiel’s own memories, he’s been craving more of that blue ocean, and maybe the oak tree swing, or even Castiel and him in the kitchen, making something easy, like burgers. Dean can’t imagine Castiel fixing a car engine, but Dean could easily teach him too. There’s a harsh line between romance and friendship in Dean’s head, but with Castiel, the line is thin, almost see-through. Dean can kind of understand what Castiel meant about the bond. It’s true about most friendships anyway – once you get to know the person, you grow attached. Isn’t that the same about sharing dreams?

The chilli is done within half an hour, so Dean quickly picks up two bowls, before Sam can ask anything else about the Dream Weaver. Dean’s got a new appointment with him next week, which stays on his mind even when he’s pouring the delicious chilli. Concentrating on the task at hand is hard, and Dean’s supposed to work on his project tomorrow too. Bobby’s going to kill him if he slacks off. Maybe Dean can call Castiel today and just  _ chat _ while he’s working. Maybe. If that’s socially alright. God, he hopes it’s all right. Castiel’s soothing voice comes to mind, makes Dean a little bit nervously giddy.

After Dean’s already tucked all the way in his own bed, curiously browsing through nightmares and their meanings, his phone starts ringing. Dean’s heart flips, his fingers shake as he answers, a small smile plays on his face.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, that soothing, soothing voice washes over Dean and he instantly feels like he’s been submerged in a hot bath. The image of the giant oak tree and the swings flashes by, but Dean ignores it for the sake of listening to Cas.

“Didn’t think you’d call me,” Dean says, rolling over in his bed, phone wedged in between his pillow and his ear. “To be completely honest, I thought I’d call you tomorrow on my break.”

There’s a huff of laughter on the other side. “I couldn’t wait until your break. I just wanted to talk to you about your dream. How have you been feeling about it lately?”

Dean thinks about it, lets it simmer in his gut. “I’m still dreaming about the demons, the hole is still right there at my feet. I can’t help but think about my father and how we’ve ended things between us, but it did get better. I’m better at re-creating good memories now that you’ve shown me how.”

“There’s another way to find out what your soul really craves,” Castiel says. “Good memories help, but the only way to truly stop the hole from opening up beneath your feet is to face your fears.”

“I can’t really face my fears, man. They’re more of a concept than a real thing.”

“I can’t believe you won’t trust a professional.”

“What are you, a shrink?”

“Psychology is a very celebrated profession. They do a better job at getting to the bottom of the problem without probing someone’s mind directly.”

Dean laughs. “Did you just actually make an analogy about Dream Weavers being aliens? You didn’t actually abduct me and enter my dreams by force.”

Castiel sounds just as amused. “If you’ve known more about my lore, I am considered an alien of sorts.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m talking with an alien on a fucking phone.”

Castiel’s answering laugh makes Dean’s entire face light up, his heart feels light, flies away with every sound that comes through the line. Dean listens and talks and listens and talks. An entire hour passes by like a second, gives Dean the feeling of life worth living, something warm and defined crawls its way up Dean’s spine and settles behind his lungs. He  _ likes _ Castiel. That’s all it is. Dean’s not even worried Castiel will see it the next time he enters Dean’s dream. The swing goes backward and then forward, falling in shape, waiting for both to settle down.

Castiel says goodnight, and Dean follows through, whispering slowly into the phone, cherishing the last minutes.

Once it’s done, Dean sleeps. The nightmare comes back. Once Dean’s feet are bleeding from the golden spikes, he feels a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing just a little. Dean closes his eyes against the demons and forgets all about the bad memories resurfacing. All that matters are Castiel’s hand in his on Dean’s shoulder, entwined fingers, and the giant oak tree.

***

Bobby stares at the brand-new Chevy Impala, completely remade from the wreck that it was. Dean’s hands are covered in oil, so he can’t wait to wash them so he can call Cas. They’ve been talking for a month now, usually before bedtime, but even then, Dean would meet Castiel in the dream. They’d lean against the oak tree and stare at each other until Dean woke up. The first couple of sessions with Castiel in his little cottage have been taxing, but at least Dean got to spend time with the Dream Weaver. Dean’s learned so many things about Cas, and not only about the way he takes care of the wild bees – Castiel’s good memories resurface every time Dean touches them, and Dean can’t believe Castiel’s been this eager to share them with Dean. A rush of excitement flows within, and the grease on Dean’s fingers make him twitch, he feels antsy and jumpy, all while Bobby walks around the car, touching the shiny new paint, brushing his fingers against the new tail lights. The number of nods constitutes as approval, and Dean beams from the side of the car, silently waiting for Bobby’s final word on the project.

Bobby brushes back what little hair he has, and hides it behind a cap, pursing his lips. “Well done, kid. Couldn’t have done a better job. I’d say I woulda done a better job, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

“Truly would be,” Dean says, grinning like a ten year old.

Bobby’s silent for a few moments, breathing in and out easily. Then, he speaks, “He would’ve been proud of you. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to sit underneath the car that ended his life. John loved this car as much as he did you and Sam, and I can just see him smiling down upon you two wherever he is now.”

The pain in Dean’s chest used to be bigger than life, ate him inside out, but as he’s watching Bobby lovingly brush his shaking fingers over the paint, Dean suddenly feels a rush of forgiveness for himself. For shouting at Dad, for watching him drunkenly stumble to his Impala and driving away into the night. Dean hasn’t told Sam the project he’d been working on was the very car that killed their father. He’ll have to now, because after buying it off a junkyard, Dean’s fully ready to take control of his own life and his past.

Bobby lets him off with the car, and Dean promises he’ll get back on other projects after the weekend. Sitting inside of the car, Dean’s hands sweat. Not because he’s thinking about the fateful night, but because it feels right to have the wheel in his hands. Driving down home, Dean receives a call from Cas. Excitement runs through Dean’s back.

“You’re still coming tomorrow?” Castiel says instead of hi. He sounds a little breathless.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Are you alright?”

“I am,” Castiel replies. “I just met a couple of my friends, a council of sorts. Taking on multiple dreams is exhausting.”

“Will you be able to take me on tomorrow then?”

“We’ll see.”

Dean smiles. Cas wants to see him outside of their usual activities. “Do you have a barbeque we could fire up?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m bringing food over. You need some good grub to get you back up on your feet.”

Dean can practically hear the smile on the other side when Cas says, “That sounds lovely.”

***

Sam and Dean both sit inside of the car for what feels like hours, but in reality, it’s just a couple of minutes of slow breathing and reminiscing, all of the games they used to play as children inside of the car, how mom and dad used to laugh for hours during a road trip. It feels right, now that they’re the only ones inside, their legs too big for the front seat.

“So it’s yours now, huh?” Sam says, brushing his hair back, watching the front mirror.

Dean drums his fingers on the wheel. “No. It’s ours. You’ll need the car for dates.”

Sam snorts. “I’ll use it for grocery runs.”

“No way am I letting you put fucking salad in this car,” Dean says. They both laugh, like children again, and Dean feels like he’s lifting, as light as air. Sam instantly forgives him for being so silent about his project. Dean reluctantly tells him about his nightmares, the memories that kept resurfacing, and Sam hugs him so tightly it hurts to breathe. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Dean says. Sam has his arms around him. “I felt like I needed time, and now that I’ve been through it all, I wanted you to know. I promise, I’ll tell you if anything happens to me.”

“You better,” Sam mumbles. 

The next morning, Dean loads the car up with groceries, even salad. Says goodbye to Sam, fully prepared for an entire weekend with Cas, if he lets him stay over. God, Dean really wants to stay over, to wander the woods and see Castiel’s bees. Sam smirks at him.

“You even got a toothbrush with you? You  _ like  _ him.”

Dean takes a deep breath and closes the trunk. “Hopefully he likes me back.”

“You’re seriously going to try it with a Dream Weaver?”

Thinking about it, Dean’s not afraid of Cas being a Dream Weaver anymore. Maybe because Dean knows more about Cas now, after seeing him be a regular teenager in his memories, then a proper adult. He knows Castiel has spent his years with other Dream Weavers, has travelled more than your average person, and really likes solitude. Castiel’s love life hasn’t been the best, but it had its moments. Dean felt all of it just as Cas did, they shared memories of simple and heartbreaking things.

“I think we’re actually going on a date today,” Dean says. “No weaving involved.”

***

Castiel waits for him just as he always does – with a cigarette in hand, standing on top of his porch, seemingly unaware of how laid-back he looks. The contrast of him and the forest takes Dean by surprise today, maybe because Dean’s never been here without a difficult mindset of facing his greatest fears. Today, it’s just him and Cas, no bad memories.

Castiel helps him with bags of groceries, and says, “I’ve already fired up the barbeque. It’s down the back, I figured you wouldn’t want to damage your car with all the smoke.”

Dean beams. “You’ve noticed, huh? It used to be my dad’s car.”

“I did notice. I’ve seen this car in your dreams.”

Castiel’s kitchen is as cozy as Dean imagined - everything’s in order, all of his small cupboards are filled to the brim with wild honey and home-grown spices. Dean easily finds all that he needs, as if he’s lived here for years. Castiel helps out as much as he can when Dean tells him what to do, and so both of them prepare a hefty lunch. When Dean’s ready to cook the food out the back, Castiel hands him a cold beer. Whatever is happening, Dean’s accepting it. Dean’s noticing that his body remembers Castiel’s home as if it’s his own, and Dean partially blames their connection. 

The sunlight streams through the trees, illuminating Castiel, who is preparing an outdoor table, places different sides and sauces, gets some homemade lemonade on top. Even a plate of fresh honeycomb, after which Castiel licks the excess off his fingers. Dean watches Castiel unabashedly, knows Castiel’s watching back just as intensely. Dean’s so lightheaded he could scream, and when he sets the burgers down in the middle of the table, he’s not even surprised Castiel sits down next to him, not even in front. They’re so close it’s making Dean’s palms sweaty. 

The first bite of the burger is heavenly. Castiel’s eagerly wolfing down his, humming his approval, closing his eyes with a pleasant expression on his face. A second burger is gone just as quick, and during the third, Dean asks, “Am I the only one you’ve experienced a mutual connection with? I’m sure you’ve had hundreds of clients, can’t be just me.”

Castiel takes a bite thoughtfully. “I’m going to be truthful with you, Dean. You’re not the first, but you’re definitely the only one I’ve let myself go with. I still pursue very strong friendships with the people who have touched my memories, and I do see them regularly.”

Dean’s slightly jealous. Only slightly. “You let yourself go with me?”

“Yes. I allow you in. You’ve experienced more of my life than any other that came before you - you’ve turned into a good memory, and continue to do so. Today is a great example - I’ve never experienced such sobriety and comfort; I think I’ve let myself enjoy the simple things in life with you, something like a barbeque keeps my mind at bay, because I’ve realized I’m not just a Dream Weaver. My gift does not define me, and I’m allowed to enjoy a human life with another human without constantly thinking about someone else’s dreams. My dreams are also my own, I’ve just never chased them down, not in the way I’m doing now, with you here by my side. Even eating a delicious burger right now constitutes as me enjoying my life, no?”

Dean sits up, turns his body to Castiel’s. Inches his fingers to his, wraps them in warmth, remembers the way Castiel’s name surrounded Dean throughout the weeks he’s been considering going to see the Dream Weaver. Now, it’s Castiel’s name on Dean’s lips, no more uncertainty about what it all means. Dean sees the oak tree, a hypothetical one - in this house, in that car, all around him in this forest. He sees Castiel and him building a swing, taking turns in it, a whirlwind of emotions passes through him as Castiel sees into his eyes. 

“Would your dream involve me and the oak tree?” Dean asks so boldly. 

Castiel’s blue ocean eyes shine. “There are no oak trees in this forest,” he says. Dean’s heart deflates for a second. Castiel continues, slowly, “But I do know a couple others that would suffice for a swing.”

“You know what I’m asking you of, right?”

Castiel laughs, then holds Dean’s hand up, so he can press his lips to Dean’s skin. “You’re crystal clear, Dean Winchester. And I do see you in my kitchen. All the time. We could try.”

Dean breathes in shakily. “I’ve never committed to anyone before.”

“Nor have I.”

As close as they are, Dean’s first thought when Castiel’s lips inch to his is of the ocean again. Castiel’s eyes are closed now, his lips burn on Dean’s, the softness of the kiss makes Dean’s heart pound so hard he’s feeling dizzy. Gripping the front of Castiel’s shirt, Dean brings Castiel in, deepens the kiss, feels the heat from Castiel’s skin. He smells of the forest, of something like home, and Dean breathes it all in as they end their kiss, smiling as they do so. 

Nothing scares him now, not even Castiel’s hands all over him when they’re climbing up the small stairs to Castiel’s bedroom. It’s all so slow, like in one of those black and white movies - Castiel’s fingers grip the edge of Dean’s shirt, and Dean’s hooking his fingers on Castiel’s jeans. Castiel’s bedroom is so comfortably small that they fit in the bed perfectly. There’s a bit of space for their hurried and frantic kissing, for Castiel’s roaming hands to reach underneath Dean, and so Dean’s right on top of Castiel, his hands tightened on Castiel’s dark curls. 

Once they’re halfway there, Dean’s hand on Castiel, ear just below Castiel’s mouth, Dean reaches with his newfound power into the deepest part of Castiel, gets access to Castiel’s most recent memories. Castiel lets him in, makes it so profoundly easy for Dean to notice all of these different feelings Castiel’s been feeling ever since he’s met Dean. The adoration is so overwhelming, Dean starts kissing his neck, mouthing at the bruises he’s leaving behind. Castiel’s breathing harshly, his whole body responds to the way Dean’s treating it. Castiel’s own hand finds where Dean wants him most to be, and so they get there with acknowledging their feelings for one another. Dean’s whole back arches as he comes, with Castiel in tow, his lips pressed into Dean’s shoulder. 

Afterglow, Dean thinks as he watches Castiel slowly fall asleep, right in Dean’s arms. He’s so beautiful, Dean finds it hard to chase sleep, but soon succumbs to it, lets it take over, just as Castiel let Dean take over his memories. 

The hole in the ground is gone. There’s only the oak tree, now, and Castiel by his side, gripping the rope of the swing. Dean tries to recall all of the bad memories, thinks about the golden spikes that have left so many scars on his feet and hands. Castiel smiles, and envelopes him in that afternoon warmth, whispers something into Dean’s hair as they both stand next to the oak tree. 

That’s when Dean realizes. There’s no more hole in the ground and no more spikes - only because he’s forgiven himself. Castiel’s here with him, and Dean’s not thinking about death anymore, just of the good all of this has brought him. The journey here was as hard as he’d thought it would be, but Castiel’s hands feel so good around him that he finds it hard to wallow in grief for all the bad that’s gone now.

He never has the nightmare again. 

Castiel’s still there in the morning, smiling at him as if he’s going to do it for the rest of the tomorrow’s they have together. Dean takes a picture of them both, instantly sends it to Sam. And Sam replies “Ew?”. Castiel laughs. Dean keeps staring at the same picture for years after, thinking of it as the start of the best memory he’s ever had. They even build a swing down the small footpath they’ve made for themselves. 

Dean smiles, with Castiel by his side, in their own kitchen. 

THE END

  
  
  



End file.
